A Champion's Mind - Pete Sampras

effect on Andre. It put me up 9–8 in our rivalry, but more important it impacted Andre so badly that he
soon fell off the radar—he admitted much later that it took him two years to recover from that devastating
loss. It was too bad, because the match also certified my rivalry with Andre; nobody could push me and
force me to play my best tennis the way Andre could. And nobody could call our rivalry hype cooked up
by Nike anymore—it was the real deal, even though it was put on hold.
Less than two weeks after the U.S. Open final, the Davis Cup squad reassembled in Las Vegas to host
Sweden. The atmosphere in Vegas was relaxing. We gambled a little, and all gathered at Andre’s house
one night for a big dinner cooked up by a Vegas chef. After the meal, Andre took a few of us for a ride in
the dunes and mountains around Vegas in his Hummer.
Our captain, Tom Gullikson, wanted everyone to be happy and comfortable, so he volunteered to
scrunch up in the back cargo area of the Hummer in a kind of crouch. Soon Andre was blasting up and
down these mountains, the Hummer bouncing around like crazy—it was pretty much fun for everyone but
Tom, who was getting thrown around like a rag doll in the back, bumping his head and shoulders and
knees. All we heard from the back was, “Ow . . . ooomph . . . eeech . . . arrraggghhhhh!”
Tim, whose situation had continued to deteriorate, decided that he wanted to attend the tie—against his
doctor’s advice. The USTA and everyone else in tennis supported the idea, and Tim made the trip as a
kind of unofficial cocaptain with his brother. It was great to see him near a tennis court again—great to
see what being around the game and players could still do for his spirits. But he was looking very gaunt
and hollow. Anybody could tell with one glance that he was not well.
Andre and I won our first singles matches, but the Swedes took the doubles. Andre showed up to watch
that match with his right arm in a sling beneath his unzipped tracksuit. He had torn a chest muscle in his
opening-day singles, and he was finished for the tie. We lost the doubles, but the following day Todd,
replacing Andre, stepped in and crafted a tidy three-set win over Enqvist to clinch the tie. The USTA then
asked the Swedish officials if they objected to Tim sitting on court alongside his brother (and our captain)
during my meaningless match against Wilander. The Swedes, ever the good guys, agreed.
After the tie, the U.S. team room was awash with the usual assortment of friends, family, USTA types,
ITF types, and garden-variety hangers-on. At one point, I glanced across the room and made eye contact
with Tim. His face by that time was starting to hollow out, and his eyes—an intense blue to begin with—
were practically burning. For a second, we looked at each other, and each of us knew what the other was
thinking: This should be our moment. All these other people are extraneous. This is about the two of us,
and nothing can take away what we’ve accomplished, or the trust we have. I’ve never forgotten that
moment or that look. It’s with me to this day as my enduring memory of Tim.
So it was on to Moscow for the November final, and I knew how much Tim wanted to see me lead the
squad to a triumph. It was a tough ask, because the Russians, predictably, held the tie on very slow red
clay, indoors. For them, it was the right move, even though Jim Courier and Andre Agassi could be as
tough on clay as anyone. There was only one hitch—Andre was still nursing his chest injury. We hoped
until the eleventh hour that Andre would be good to go, meaning that my job would be a manageable one:
making sure we won the doubles, while Andre and Jim would do the heavy lifting in singles. I had
confidence that we would win the doubles—I liked playing Davis Cup doubles with Todd Martin and, as
ambivalent as I was about clay, I played doubles on it happily, with confidence.
We arrived in Moscow on a Saturday, six days before the Friday start. Andre had sent word that even
though he couldn’t play, he would attend the tie as a show of team spirit and solidarity. That sealed the
deal. Tom declared that I was going to play singles unless, of course, I felt like I was the wrong man for
the job, and made enough of a fuss about the decision. How’s that for an awkward spot? What was I going
to do, say, “Nah, Tom, I’m not up for it. Let Todd or Richey go out there”? I could see all the makings of